


Have You Got It All in Your Head?

by jesstiel (jseca)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Ghost Drifting, M/M, Pining, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jseca/pseuds/jesstiel
Summary: "Theirs is a complicated relationship, tangled and entwined in a myriad of ‘what ifs’ and fanciful, passionate emails, of disappointment and misunderstandings, of yelling and bickering, and yet.  And yet, somehow, it has all meshed together, pulling them into this symbiotic relationship that he now finds he could never live without."Hermann fills the gaps that remain when Newton up and leaves for the private sector with ghost drifting and memories and an overwhelming sense of something left unsaid.





	Have You Got It All in Your Head?

**i. Recovery**

Their post-ending-the-apocalypse, post-victory-celebration medical examinations go about as well as one might expect, given their prolonged mental contact with an alien hivemind bent on wanton destruction.  They are, after all, tangled neural pathways-deep into something which they’ll never be able to truly shake; their minds have been fundamentally altered, adjusted, and the proof of it is reflected in their EEG scan results.  ‘Abnormal’ is how their neurologist tries to put it, which is nothing but a kindness, as they can tell for themselves when they finally manage to wrangle the results from her only to see wave forms akin to a magnitude seven (at _least)_ earthquake triggered in each of their heads. 

Well, add a magnitude or two, for Newton’s.

“How are we still _standing?”_ he jokes, or tries to, but his hands are visibly shaking as he grips the unassuming sheet of paper that holds the key to his mind, his voice wavering in a decidedly non-Newtonian fashion.  (Although, the past twenty-four hours have affected his default state to a point where, possibly, he’s going to have to accept shaking and wavering as his new baseline.  Time will tell.)  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I knew it’d be bad, there’s no way it _wouldn’t_ , given the circumstances, but hey, said circumstances led to a world-saving scenario, so there’s that, at least –,”

“I think,” Hermann cuts in, trying his utmost to sound calm, collected, unaffected, and likely failing.  He cannot look away from Newton’s results, his own forgotten by his side.  “It’s probably best not to think too hard on it.”

Despite their atypical results, they are, miraculously, not sent straight to some padded cell where they are forced to wait and determine whether or not the kaiju have caught a hold of their minds and are plotting to turn against the PPDC at the slightest chance, but are instead both given a month’s time to rest and recover, and to simply _be_.  They had played a hand in changing the fate of their entire planet, after all.  Even so, the PPDC dorms aren’t exactly the paragon of rest and relaxation, and in their case, R &R is never going to be the first thing on their minds.  They work, even without the potential for certain doom lurking over their heads, it’s what they do, and to work is to heal.  

Hermann often finds himself glancing over to Newton’s side of the laboratory; has a regular, unfamiliar impulse to make his way over and start helping him cut up a new specimen that’s made its way to them, assessing and defining how this particular piece of viscera contributed to keeping its kaiju host alive, and has a moment where the sheer feeling of dissonance almost causes him to throw up right there at his desk.  That has never been him – never _will_ be him, as the rational side of his mind (the side that is still fully _Hermann_ ) tells himself over and over.  The thought disparity is especially difficult to deal with for the first few weeks, where Newton’s brain melding with his own is still a fresh ordeal.

But that’s nothing compared to the worry he has, more often than not, that somewhere in his consciousness, the _kaiju_ are affecting his thought patterns, his mental acuity.  He saw something humankind was never supposed to have access to – he looked into the abyss, and it most certainly looked back.  He can still see the expressions on what they now refer to as ‘precursor’s faces as they realised what was happening; he would call it ‘horror’, at closest approximation.

And he only drifted _once._

**ii. Retrospective**

“Aw, that old story?” Newt grins, cocking his head to the side with an air of arrogance (though others would call it ‘charm’) that Hermann is well aware comes naturally to him; that he can almost feel in the echo of a thousand memories.  He thrives under the too-bright, artificial light of the fifth studio they’ve visited that week, under the sea of TV cameras pointed directly at him.  It’s an excuse for his inner rock star to finally shine through and dominate the air waves; all he’s missing is a guitar, and that’s only ever one line on his rider away.

“C’mon, you’ve probably all heard this a hundred times by now, right?  ‘How K-Sci Saved the World.’”  Newt leans forward in his chair and raises a gloved hand, his fingers trailing through the air as if his self-proposed headline is manifesting itself before his very eyes.  As he’s about to drop his arm back to his side, he glances over to Hermann and smirks amicably.  “Well, mostly me.”

Hermann takes the cue and rolls his eyes at that, feeling very much like he’s a playing a character role, acting to an audience of seven billion.  He could quote their interviews verbatim by this point, all their back and forth, Newton’s near scripted answers; the media could run the key points through an AI and have _that_ do their press interviews in lieu of the real thing.  It feels manufactured enough by this point as it is, and anyway, with an AI, at least then they might get a decent answer or two from him.  Television, he has discovered, is not amongst his otherwise admirable list of strengths.

“Because of your drift with the kaiju?” the interviewer responds to Newton’s quip, leaning forward in her chair almost involuntarily now that she’s reaching one of the juiciest topics in journalism this week.  Hermann can’t help but wince every time it comes up, even though by now he’s used to pushing back the bile he can feel rising up to his throat at every mention, the neon blue of the  memories he’s trying to dampen.  He thinks, _knows,_ that Newton must be experiencing something similar, and yet -

“A kaiju _fragment_ , but yeah, that was the catalyst that got us on the road to salvation!” Newton beams.  “Without her, none of this would be possible.  We’d all be kaiju food by now.”

That, too, emits a small wince from Hermann, as memories that aren’t his own attempt to flood back in; _dust falling from the shelter roof as Otachi’s footfalls landed above, the ceiling caving in under the pressure, an otherworldly appendage searching, scanning for him.._

He suddenly realises that the pause between question and response is running a few beats too long.

“Her..?” The interviewer asks cautiously.  Hermann’s blood runs cold as she glances over at him, looking, rightfully, more than a little worried at the sinister implications that might lie behind Newton’s ostensibly innocent choice of pronoun.

“Him, her, they, you know what I mean.  She’s a living piece of tissue – one that we owe our victory to!  She deserves a bit of respect, y’know?”  Newton’s trying to emit an air of casual conversation, of banter between friends, but he’s never made a slipup like this before, and Hermann can tell that his natural confidence is slipping as his attempts to backtrack run cold.

“I’d say we owe the victory more to the efforts of the Pan Pacific Defence Corps than a slice of the very same monsters that were trying to eradicate all life on Earth, wouldn’t you?” the interviewer questions slowly, raising one sharp eyebrow.  The air is suddenly thick, cloying.

Hermann’s stomach twists. 

It’s not like Newton’s lack of social graces hasn’t failed him before – the garish vista in greens and reds and yellows spread across the expanse of his skin in particular has been cause for, at best, a disbelieving raise of an eyebrow, or at worst, physical threats, one of which ended up landing Newton in the medical bay for a few days.  There was nobody who saw the kaiju quite like Newton Geiszler, at least up until Hermann initiated a neural handshake with him on the brink of disaster.  He can’t say he suddenly shares the same views now that he shares Newton’s mind; that he suddenly sees kaiju viscera as something to be celebrated rather than avoided, but he can at least begin to understand what it is about them that Newton not only finds fascinating, but _reveres._

And this – this public slip?  Hermann could easily chalk it up to another instance of tactlessness, and yet.  He can’t help but wonder.

He would never admit to it, but he’s _constantly_ worried about the state of Newton’s mind these days.  They’ve never actually sat down to have a frank talk about what exactly Newton’s daily neural experience is like now that he’s drifted with a genocidal hivemind not once, but twice – about the fact that, no matter how bleak it is, there is a small portion of alien consciousness buried somewhere in Newton’s mind.  It’s there, no doubt about it.  How deep is something else entirely.

How it’s affecting him?

That.  That gives Hermann nightmares.

“I – uh,” Newton stammers, which might well be an interview first.  Hermann can practically see his mind racing at a million miles an hour, trying to find a suitable response but getting stuck, like he’s glitching out.  Hermann has no choice to step in before something dire happens.

“You are quite right, of course.  We have nothing but the utmost respect for our colleagues, all of whom played an extremely important part in the culmination of our shared mission.”  He tries for a smile, but it probably ends up looking more like he’s in pain.  “You’ll have to excuse Dr. Geiszler, I’m afraid; his enthusiasm for his work as a xenobiologist sometimes gets the best of him.  He’s harmless, I promise you.”  It’s an untidy attempt at humour, and the interviewer’s strained smile confirms it, but at least Newton isn’t talking anymore.  At least he isn’t trying to humanise a fragment of a kaiju. 

He feels a chill run up his spine.

“I see,” the interviewer says, though she looks unsettled.  “Ah, how about your side of the story, Dr. Gottlieb?”

Later, once the interview is done, the bright lights are gone and they are alone again, Hermann stares out at the road ahead of him, dials the car radio volume down by a few levels, and takes a deep breath.

“Newton, you realise – I - ,” he starts, and frowns at his own inability to start a conversation.  Newt tilts his head over from where he’s been idly staring out the car window, lost in thought.  “… How have you been?” is what he settles on, though as a question it barely even brushes the surface of the depths his mind has been taking him to.  It’s four months since they helped to save the world – a whirlwind of celebration and mourning, medical examinations, rest and press.  Sometimes he feels like he hardly has a moment to think, let alone find the time to talk to his colleague. 

That said, talking candidly has never been their strong point.  Writing, bickering, shouting – these are the mediums through which he feels most at ease with Newton Geiszler. 

“How have I been?”  Newton scoffs, amused that even after all their years of friendship, partnership, of amalgamated animosity and rivalry, that’s the best they can do. _‘Dear Dr. Geiszler’,_ Hermann thinks wistfully, mentally putting pen to paper as he harkens back to days past if only for a brief, intangible moment.

Newt stretches his arms out for a few seconds as he thinks up an appropriate answer.  “Well, I guess that depends on whether you’re asking me about how my day to day life has been going, in which case I feel like you’ve got a _pretty_ good idea, considering we’re doing these interviews together basically all day everyday – or at least, that’s what it feels like – but on the off-chance that you don’t, the answer would be, I guess, ‘draining, but also kinda fulfilling’?  We’re on the front cover of _magazines,_ dude.  National TV is _all over_ our asses.  Sure, Mako’s definitely further up the chain of celebrity, but she totally deserves it, and I will never try to take that away from her.  Now, Becket, that’s a whole other thing.  But sure, I feel like I’m finally getting the stage I’ve been craving my entire life.  Who said scientists can’t be cool, huh?”

“Well, I’m glad _you’re_ enjoying yourself,” Hermann mutters despite himself.  It’s no secret that he’d rather be anywhere but on a press tour.  “Not that I’m surprised.  Natural peacock that you are.”

“Aw, Herm, don’t be like that.  I mean, I get it – I’ve been _in your head_ , I get that public attention isn’t your thing, like, at all.  But that’s what I’m here for.  I’m a born attention diverter.”

“Especially when you start to humanise fragments of kaiju,” Hermann bites out despite himself, getting to the heart of the matter far quicker than he would have otherwise liked.  From the corner of his eye, he can see Newton freeze.

“Ah,” he manages, after a particularly prolonged pause.  “So you _weren’t_ asking about the ol’ day-to-day, then.”

“I suppose not.”

“Look, I -,”

“I’m not asking you to explain yourself,” Hermann cuts in, before Newt can start off on another monologue.  “I just – we’ve been through an awful lot, and I don’t like to think that you’re keeping everything stashed away.  I – I’m happy to talk to you regarding any of the events from that day, if you feel the need.”

There is a long pause.

“… Are _you_ okay?” Newton asks, unexpectedly, looking over to Hermann with a surprisingly open expression.  Hermann actually breaks his gaze on the road, at that, looking briefly over to Newton, brow furrowed.

“Me?”

“Sure.”  Newton raises his arms again, this time folding them behind his head, exuding an aura of chill incongruous to the atmosphere in the car.  He doesn’t offer any further explanation, and Hermann is suddenly unsure as to how he wants to answer.  He isn’t sure that ‘ _I frequently find myself more worried about **you’**_ would be an acceptable choice of response.  Nor does he feel particularly inclined to discuss his recurring nightmares, the memories that are not his own, the feeling he cannot shake that somewhere, deep inside his mind, an alien presence is biding its time.

“I am… coping,” is what he settles on, though he feels a spike of cowardice for it.

“Mhmm.  Okay, well, great talk,” Newton quips lightly.  Hermann rolls his eyes. 

“I admit, having to regale the story over and over again at these interviews isn’t proving.. the best, perhaps, for my state of mind,” he says slowly, choosing his words far too carefully.

“I can see that.  PTSD is a bitch,” Newton agrees, letting his arms fall back into his lap, and instead picking up one leg to rest against his chest.  Hermann briefly considers reminding him of safety protocols when in a moving vehicle, then drops the thought to focus on the salient matters at hand.

“Do you not experience it?” he asks, though he already knows the answer; can see straight through the façade Newton is putting on.  He catches him, occasionally, staring into nothing, his mind adrift and somewhere Not Here.  He catches him shaking, beads of sweat falling down his forehead and beads of blood falling from his nose.  He catches him gazing wistfully out towards the Pacific.  Despite it all, Hermann has not yet said anything.  He is in possession of his colleague’s _mind,_ and for a while, it seemed like enough. 

“Of course I do,” Newton says, dissonantly cheerful in his response.  “You’d have to be chill as hell to not let that shit get to you in some capacity, am I right?  _Super_ goddamn chill.  I just, you know.  Deal.”

“’Deal.’” Hermann quotes back, monotonous. 

“Yeah, and sometimes, dealing is telling your story to billions of people over and over again, and so what if you’re tweaking the details a little to add a little more heroism, a little less ‘cowering in a shelter?’  Sometimes, dealing is sitting in a room and trying not to scream.  Or maybe screaming, when that doesn’t actually work out.  Sometimes it’s feeling sympathy for the hivemind you literally destroyed.”  Newton pauses.  “That’s.  That doesn’t make me sound like some kind of psychopath, does it?”

“It’s… a little worrying,” Hermann replies honestly, and yet not honestly enough.  “Though hardly surprising, given your.. unconventional opinions on the kaiju as a whole.”  He motions subtly to where a small portion of Newton’s tattoos are poking out from under the sleeve of his leather jacket.  “Generally incompatible with the layman’s views on the matter as they are.  And -,” he hesitates, considering.  “there is nobody out there who could understand them better than you.  You have seen their mind.”

“Well, yeah, but so did you.”

“You’re undermining my point,” Hermann huffs impatiently, and it almost sounds like he’s trying to pay Newton a compliment, until, “ _I_ would certainly never attempt to humanise any portion of a kaiju.”

“Ugh, okay, I’m sorry, alright?   I won’t do it again.  I promise.”  Newton is clearly tiring of the conversation, resorting to childish retorts instead of actual discourse, but then Hermann at least feels like he’s got his point across, so he’ll acquiesce.  For now.

“Just not on public television, alright?  You’re certainly going to see yourself in a few tabloid headlines come tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Newton murmurs, closing his eyes and settling down in his seat.  Conversation closed.  Overhead, the high mast lights pass quietly by under the night sky.

 

**iii. Some Months Later**

 

“So, I got this job offer.”

“Oh?”

 

       **iv. Reminiscence**

 

It isn’t as though Hermann has, in quiet moments, thought about his and Newton’s life post-apocalypse.  Maybe they would continue their work as a team for the K-Science of the future, possibly finding a quiet, sequestered apartment to live in that allows them to get away from the PPDC now and then.  (Ever since the drift, he’s found that his animosity for the military has been on a slow decline.)  It’s not as if he’s ever contemplated the idea of leaving the PPDC for good, of moving away to work as an academic and not having to worry about potential apocalypse scenarios or nightmares rising from the sea ever again.  He would adopt a dog, maybe.  (It dawns on him, suddenly, that he doesn’t know if Newton favours cats or dogs, or perhaps fish.  Such simple details, and of course he could pull them straight from the memories he now has stored in his brain – but now they have all the time in the world to discover them organically.  Or so he thought.)

No, it’s not as though he has those thoughts, from time to time.

He had assumed that they would simply… stay as they were. 

Theirs is a complicated relationship, tangled and entwined in a myriad of ‘what ifs’ and fanciful, passionate emails, of disappointment and misunderstandings, of yelling and bickering, and yet.  And yet, somehow, it has all meshed together, pulling them into this symbiotic relationship that he now finds he could never live without.  Their drift has opened up an entirely new perspective on the whole thing, of course – he can pluck memories from his conscious, now double-layered with Newton’s point of view laid on top of his own, and yes, more often than not he finds that he has angered his co-worker to the breaking point more times than he can count, in these memories.  That much is mutual.  But what he is finally realising, through their shared melding of minds, is that what lay _underneath_ has always been mutual, as well.

Whether they’ll ever find the courage to actually _talk_ about it, well.  That’s a whole other thing altogether.  And now that Newton is leaving, maybe they never will.  It casts doubt in his mind – doubt as to whether he’s overestimating the weight of Newt’s feelings; whether or not he’s projecting his own onto the new memories now stored in his brain.  Would he leave, really, if he felt as Hermann does?  Trade in years of partnership for money and fame?  He has the man in his brain, yet sometimes he feels as if he doesn’t know him at all.  He thought he did.

“Packing already?” he asks one day, walking into Newton’s room to see clothing and other assorted travel paraphernalia scattered haphazardly across the floor.  It seems his habit of creating a whirlwind of chaos wherever he steps is not confined to his half of the lab.  Their lab.  A lab he now has the unshakeable feeling belongs to him in whole, rather than in half.

The lines between their consciousnesses become more blurred by the day.

“Mm,” Newton affirms with a grunt around the pen he’s holding in his mouth.  “Yeah,” he reiterates, dropping it into his hand to properly address his visitor.  “You know how you always feel like you’re missing, like, one vitally important thing on your checklist?”

“Not really,” Hermann intones, glancing over to where he can see a hastily scribbled, haphazard checklist lying on the bed.  “But I’d certainly expect it of you.”

“Thanks.”  Newt cranes his head back to properly address Hermann.  “You need something?”

“Charming.  No, I’m merely stopping by.  It’s not long until you’re due to leave, correct?”  He hopes he’s giving off the air of casual, unaffected interest he’s aiming for, even if he isn’t feeling it.  Even if as he speaks he wants to grab Newton by the shoulders and shake him until he changes his mind.  But then, getting straight to the heart of things has never been their strong point. 

He knows exactly when Newton’s flight is due to leave.  He _knows_ that he knows this.

“Ah, yeah, mid afternoon tomorrow?” Newton replies, his tone suggesting that he himself isn’t entirely sure when his flight is leaving.  This does not come as a surprise.

“You’re aware Ms. Shao will be expecting you to be prompt?” Hermann has, over the past few days, taken it upon himself to research Newton’s new employer, and has been surprised to find that he has already developed a great deal of respect for her.  She, like himself, is a very prim, proper, no-nonsense scientist, who seems like she is going to have absolutely zero time for Newton’s breezy, casual brand of work ethic.  Hermann is sure Newton is going to get along with her swimmingly.  He tells himself this partly because the thought amuses him, and partly because he is annoyed at how Newton is not allowed to disclose _anything_ regarding the secret project he is undertaking at his new position.  He hopes, quietly, that Newton has a terrible time, and decides to return as soon as he realises that leaving the PPDC was the worst decision he has ever made.

He will never disclose this information to Newton.

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it, I know,” Newton says, though he sounds, and looks, distracted, rummaging around his room for something else to throw into his suitcase.  Hermann pauses, watching him – wonders if he might be able to bring himself to say _something._   Hey –

“- really though, is there something you wanted?” Hermann jolts out of his reverie at Newton’s voice.  “I’m kinda, I need all the time I can get -,”

“Right, yes, of course,” Hermann says, in lieu of the million things he could, and wants to.  If he feels hurt at the shortness of Newt’s tone, he doesn’t mention it.  “I’ll – yes.”  It’s clear that Newton has already mentally moved on to the next point on his checklist, back turned from Hermann as it is.  Try as he might to shut the door quietly behind him as he leaves, the click of the latch bolt echoes through the empty corridor like a gunshot.

 

**v. Regret**

“- those specimens’ll be hanging around the lab for a couple more days before they’re flown out to China, so I’m leaving them in your capable hands,” Newton is saying as they make their way toward the taxi parked in front of the Shatterdome, sitting in its shadow like a harbinger of Hermann’s life, turned upside down.  “Most of ‘em are going to be sent to another facility, but Shao wants to get a look at some of them herself, so.”

“Right,” Hermann monotones, dragging one of Newt’s hefty suitcases behind him as best he can.  He feels.. empty.  He’s hardly taking in a word Newton is saying, despite the vast quantity of them.  It’s likely the most that Newton has said to him in the past couple of weeks combined, all rushed out just before he leaves.  Not that Hermann himself has made any particular effort to engage Newton in conversation, but.

“And hey, I wish I could tell you more, bud, but I’ve already signed a _shitload_ of NDA’s, and I don’t wanna lose this job before I’ve even started, right?  I’ve even started to brush up on my Mandarin.  She wants me to be fluent, which, heh, you’d think a guy with 6 Ph.D.’s would see as a walk in the park, but, well, it’s not.  Can’t get my mouth around the tones, which is pretty embarrassing.”

“Mmhm.”

“Anyway,” Newton pauses in his soliloquy as they reach the silent, taxi-shaped omen.  “This is me, I guess.”  There’s an awkward pause as Newton tries to decide between hug or handshake.  He offers his hand a few seconds later, decision made.  Hermann wants desperately to change it, even as he reaches out to clasp Newton’s hand in his own.  There is a moment, a sliver of a second, where Hermann nearly opens his heart, nearly brings forth everything that’s been weighing on his mind for the past months – nearly tells him to stay.  His future hinges on this decision.

But he doesn’t.

“Make waves, Herm,” Newton says, and then leaves him with a wink before loading all of his luggage into the taxi, and then himself.

And then he is gone, and Hermann is lost.

 

**vi. Recipience**

_Dear Newton,_

_I confess, I rather thought we were done with all this – that we might have learnt to communicate verbally after all these years, rather than having to resort to the comfort of the written word, but it seems that old habits die hard.  That said, given that the writing of this email was not a mutual decision, I understand if perhaps you would rather not respond in kind.  We have mobile phones, and that is the preferred communication device of the modern day, is it not? Though even they feel like an anachronism, nowadays, and so sitting down to type an email seems… ancient.  What can I say?  I have a flair for the nostalgic.  And no – the day I download Snapchat is the day I give in entirely to your influences on my subconscious.  I.e., never._

_I’m already running off course.  My apologies._

Hermann’s fingers pause in their ceaseless tapping as he takes a moment to reflect on what it is, exactly, that he would like to get across here.  There had been no particular catalyst that would explain why he is sitting in front of his laptop, typing out what is essentially a stream of consciousness that just so happens to be addressed to his former colleague, but he feels compelled to do so all the same.  If he had to pin down a reason, the best he could do is this: Newton left a month ago, leaving a xenobiologist-shaped hole in the K-Science lab, (one which he has, horrifyingly, felt compelled to fill, every so often), leaving the Shatterdome far too quiet for comfort; leaving him with a sense that he is not entirely whole.  He cannot help but want to regain his sense of self, and this is perhaps the only way he can think how.

_I hope that your new position is proving to be mentally fulfilling.  I am certain it is fiscally fulfilling, at the very least.  We are much the same, you and I – with nothing to challenge us, it feels rather as if there is no reason to get up in the morning.  ..Maybe that borders on the melodramatic, but it would certainly account for why this post-apocalyptic period has felt altogether dull and monotonous.  As glad as I am that the breach is no more, it has meant that there has been a far less urgent need for my brand of science, these past weeks.  I believe that bureaucracy is taking precedence while Ms. Mori reshuffles the PPDC.  I do not envy the weight on her shoulders._

_Speaking of the PPDC: I fear that your abrupt departure from the Shatterdome has left a lot unsaid.  I feel that, for example, we never had a chance to truly discuss our drift, and how it has affected our respective mindsets.  I’m sure it would delight you to know that I can now bear to look at kaiju innards without immediately wanting to vomit, or that I found myself singing along to Freddie Mercury, the other day, whereas previously I did not even deign to learn the man’s name.  I even found myself looking up ‘Dr. Martens’ online – I only consciously realised as I was about to hit ‘purchase,’ loathe as I am to admit it.  There is a ghost wandering my neural pathways, and he has your name, and your mannerisms, and your appreciation for Neon Genesis Evangelion.  I can now write that verbatim, without even the need to look it up.  I hope you’re proud of yourself._

Another pause.  He contemplates whether or not he wants to discuss any potential mental continuity with an alien hivemind, because who else in the world could possibly understand, save for Newton Geiszler?  It’s a matter he tries to avoid thinking about more often than not, but then there are moments where he feels the pulling need to look out across the expanse of the Pacific ocean, towards where the breach once sat; to knock an item off of his desk - a small compulsion, to be sure, but one that, scaled up by a couple of hundreds of orders of magnitude, could be equated to knocking down, say, a skyscraper.  If the ghost of Newton Geiszler lives inside his brain, so then do the ghosts of a billion aliens.  If the ghosts of aliens live in his mind, then they most definitely reside in Newton’s.

He shudders, despite himself.

_So far I have had fewer kaiju-esque proclivities, and for that, I am glad._

That seems sufficient.

_Yours,_

_Hermann._

It takes far, far too long for him to hit the ‘send’ button.  He is a grown man.  This shouldn’t be so hard.

Newton’s response arrives in his inbox a few days later.

_Hey Hermann!_

_I can get down with reliving the good ol’ days for a while.  Hell, why not?  It makes a change from the daily verbal ass-kicking I’m getting from Lady Shao, over here._

_I guess my leaving was kinda abrupt, huh?  It was one of those ‘once in a lifetime opportunity’ type things – it just felt **right.** Like I had no choice but to take it – like it was fated.  Do I believe in fate?  Up for discussion; generally, no, but then Istus’s magnanimous hand has landed me in this company, with this pay check, so I’ll give it to her if she keeps sending this kind of fortune my way.  Figuratively and literally, am I right?  Heh.  And if that’s a thinly veiled attempt to get me to break my literally ridiculous amount of signed and stamped NDA’s, it won’t work.  Let’s just say that, yeah, it is **definitely** mentally fulfilling.  Shao might act kind of like she’s about to start breaking out the doublespeak, but man, the lady has ideas.  I’m not saying she’s going to be the new Lightcap, because there is nobody, ever, who could be the new Caitlin Lightcap, we both know this, but they could learn from one another, how about let’s stick with that.  _

_Speaking of ridic awesome female badasses, Maks has got this.  Don’t even worry about it.  Remember that time she nuked an alien planet and consequentially saved ours?  That was cool.  Bureaucracy’s gotta seem like a walk in the park, comparatively._

_You listened to Queen?  And you **liked** it?  Thank you, DIY neural interface, for the gracious gifts you are giving me.  I wish I had been there to see it.  You **gotta** tell me more about how I’m invading your subconscious and resetting your defaults.  I am very into this.  I have a sort of burning need to see you voluntarily handling kaiju guts.  I guess in return I should give you some insight into how your set of proclivities has been reworking my own personal baseline, huh?  Here’s one: my designated area in Shao industries is spotless.  Nary a speck of dust to be seen.  I am disgusted at myself, whilst also holding a sense of extreme self-satisfaction that is purely Gottliebian in nature.  I have purchased not one, but **five** books on advanced quantum physics, and now I think I could read your numerous papers and actually understand what on earth you’re going on about when you talk about sinusoidal wave functions, or when you quote the uncertainty principle at me.  Hey, look:_

_Does that get your engine revving?  Does it get your waveforms… waving?  Shut up._

_I guess there’s definitely a possibility of kaiju interference with our brains.  That’s a thing that could have happened.   Yup.  Honestly, I try not to think about it too much? If I do I feel like I’ll probably experience some less than preferable mental and/or physical side effects, like, for example, a burning desire to swim into the Pacific and find where the breach used to be.  Is that a thing I really experience?  Who’s to say; this is a direct stream of consciousness, right here, thought to page, no barriers.  The breach is gone, annihilated, the precursors ain’t got a damn thing on me, okay?  I might still feel a little amorous toward the kaiju, but you can vouch for me here – that’s just a thing I do.  The kaiju are awesome.  Destructive tendencies notwithstanding._

_… Hey, actually._

_Okay, I have thought of a thing – a thought experiment is unfolding right here, right now.So, I’m not saying I want to, like, clone a kaiju or somehow re-open the breach to **retrieve** a kaiju and actually test this super awesome hypothesis I have just now come up with (or maybe I am?), but, and you gotta stay with me here – the precursors created the kaiju, right?  So they created – nay, programmed, their destructive, genocidal personalities.  I’m just saying.  You could **totally** reprogram a kaiju, right?  I mean, maybe not you, but I definitely could.  I am Newton Geiszler, Ph.D. x6.  There is nothing I won’t at least try.  Think of the possibilities, Hermann!  They are boundless!  Be right back, I need to go find one of my kaiju samples._

_… I’m joking.  I’m joking, stop making that face._

_Newt_

Hermann finds that he needs to go and get some fresh air for, oh, an hour or so.  Or possibly bash his head against a wall for an extended period of time.  This man will be the death of him; if he was concerned for his mental state _before.._ The feeling of nausea, however, is also accompanied by one of quiet joy – he had half been expecting no response at all.  He reads Newton’s email over a few times more, internally revelling at just how _familiar_ the tone of it is, compared to the Newton of previous weeks.  He types out his reply that same day.

 

_Dear Newton,_

_I am quite sure you haven’t been reading about wave functions in **my** papers, but I am glad you have finally come round to the elementary-level basics of quantum theory.  Things can only get better from here.  In general I feel, based on what you are telling me, that my overall influence on your mental state can only be a positive thing.  Cleanliness, Newton.  It is not a vice; it is to be celebrated.   _

_What could one possibly reprogram a kaiju to **do?** Surely they are far too big to be of any practical use to us.  Perhaps as maritime transportation devices, I suppose, or maybe they could put their proven demolition skills to use in more practical ways than mindless destruction.  Oh, look at me, I’m thinking like you.  Repeat after me: kaiju are not compatible with human life.  Please treat that as a mantra.  Please do not attempt to retrieve a kaiju from the anteverse.  I can just about understand your thought paths, Newton, but I am the 1% of people who would.  It may be a thought experiment now, but who’s to say where thought experiments could end up leading?  It doesn’t bear thinking about._

_I am glad to hear that your new job is challenging you to an adequate degree.  I myself feel as if I am – pardon the pun – drifting, currently, without a project.  Though I have a scheduled talk with Ms. Mori in the coming days, where I feel we will more accurately pin down what my future at the PPDC is going to entail.  I could move on, perhaps, but where to?  I suppose it’s not too egotistical to tell you that the job offers are stacking up in my inbox day by day, as I’m sure they are for you, but so far nothing has particularly stood out.  Nothing has grabbed me quite like Shao Industries managed to grab you.  Istus’s hand has stayed me for today, though I too am a non-believer.  I am the master of my fate._

‘For now, I am comfortable here, though I often feel like there is something missing,’ he does not write.  ‘Something’ is hardly ambiguous, and he is not quite ready to open himself up to such a high degree.

_Here is another Newtonian tendency I found myself to be in sudden possession of, since you asked: I very nearly ordered a Dominos pizza only last night.  My poor stomach is churning at the very thought.  How do you live like this, Newton?  Eat a vegetable.  Please._

_Yours,  
Hermann._

**vii. Reveal**

Mako Mori enters the briefing room with an air of command the likes of which Hermann had last seen in Marshal Pentecost.  Her head is held high, her back straight, her stiletto heels snapping across the concrete floor, her PPDC uniform crisp to a fault, and yet.  There is a look in her eye that Hermann cannot quite place – one of haunted disquiet.  He is hardly surprised; after all, there is a weight on her shoulders that no normal human could stand to hold.  Hermann salutes as the door closes behind her regardless, though he can almost hear Newton laughing at him from within his frontal cortex as soon as his hand rises towards his forehead.

“Secretary General,” he says, a sharp greeting accompanied with a deferential bow.  Mako’s eyes meet his on his way back up, and he pauses at what he sees there.

“At ease,” she intones, returning his bow before sinking into a seat at the table, laying down an unassuming manila folder in front of her as she does.  “And, please.  While we’re in private, at least, ‘Mako’ is fine.”  She smiles weakly.  “We have been through far too much together to allow for such formalities, I think.”

“As you wish,” Hermann nods, pulling up a chair of his own.  “Mako.”

It’s funny, he muses as he regards Mako from across the table, to think that this model of military excellence, his Commander, is simultaneously pasted on the front of magazines of every calibre worldwide even as she sits before him in her perfectly pressed military uniform.  It’s a strange dichotomy; General Mori vs Mako Mori, voice of a generation – although the honeymoon is setting on her five minutes of fame, important as they were, now that the brunt of the press tour is over.  Her now iconic blue streaks are fading from her hair, too, he notes.  She has accepted the end of an era in herself.

“How have you been?  We have not had the chance to talk for a while, now,” Mako asks.  It isn’t what Hermann had been expecting – neither had he expected her shoulders to slump, her facial expression to soften, a deep sigh to involuntarily escape her.  Bureaucracy has clearly taken its toll, and as such, he is honoured and humbled that she would choose him as a safe space.

“Are you looking for a candid answer?” There is, after all, so much that he could say.

“I only ask for as much as you’re willing to give,” Mako says, sincerity painted across her features.  Hermann nods.

“Well, I wish I could say it’s been a smooth adjustment,” he starts.  “Press interviews, for one thing, are definitely not my forte.”

Mako smiles, at that.  “I can only agree.”

“Much as I would hate to admit it, Newton was certainly a saving grace, in that respect.  He has a natural flair – a stage presence, if you will, that draws the spotlight to him by default.  For that, I was most grateful indeed.”

Mako nods, though her brow furrows just a touch, and even through that small gesture Hermann instantly understands that he has shown his hand far too soon.  Mako Mori has always been an uncannily perceptive woman, and Hermann is, apparently, wearing his heart on his sleeve nowadays.

“You miss him?” she asks, striking with pinpoint accuracy, so much so that Hermann is left floundering.

“I – I hardly – it’s only been a month since he left for Shao Industries -,”

“It’s okay, Dr. Gottlieb.  Hermann.  I miss him too.  Without him here, the Shatterdome is far quieter.”

“I.. yes.”

“In any case.”  Mako takes a breath, stiffens her shoulders.  “We had a goal, I believe, for this meeting.”

Despite himself, Hermann instantly feels more at ease.  Work, he can talk about.  Work is easy.  He had perhaps thought to ask Mako about how her own changes in circumstance have been treating her, but of course, now he thinks about it, that would not be proper.  Even if he is curious about the dark circles beneath her eyes, the closed off darkness _within_ her eyes – even so, he will stick to the task at hand.  “I believe we did.”

“There’s no mistaking that without your work on the jaeger program, Mark-1 may never even have gotten off the ground,” Mako starts, sliding out papers from the folder in front of her with perfectly manicured hands.  He recognises them as a small portion of the coding he had written for Brawler Yukon, back when they were still figuring out how the jaegers were possibly going to function, logistically.  It’s a rush of nostalgia to see it again after so long.  “And of course, your work since has been just as invaluable.  Which is where we jump to today.”  She takes another sheet of paper out, this time sliding it across the table towards Hermann. 

“What..” he murmurs, scanning the proffered document as quickly as he can manage.  As he reaches the most salient point of information, the reason he is in this meeting to begin with, he blinks, re-reads, confirms.  “You… you’re re-starting the Jaeger program?” he asks quietly, hardly daring to believe.  He can already feel the cogs in his mind begin to turn. 

“It won’t be immediate, by any means” Mako replies, “but we are currently in negotiations with a number of bodies to provide funding for a new Jaeger program.  I think you may know one of the most prolific contributors already.”

“Shao Industries,” Hermann nods, understanding.  “But… if I may ask.  Why?  The program has been defunct for – for months.”

“I think maybe you know the answer already,” Mako smiles wistfully. 

“If the breach re-opens -,”

“We must be ready.  And the Jaegers certainly proved themselves capable in the war’s deciding moments. Interest has been sparked again.” 

Hermann nods sharply, resolutely.  Dark a thought as it is, it’s something they have all, he is sure, contemplated at some point since the end of the war.  The breach was opened once.  It could be opened again.  He, of all people, is the best qualified to know it, intimately familiar with the workings of it as he is.

“I am here today to informally request that you re-join our J-Tech division as the overseer to these new Jaeger once the program is re-instated, Dr. Gottlieb.  A formal request will follow, should you accept.”

At this, a verbal confirmation, Hermann can feel his throat constrict, the corner of his eyes prickling as his adrenal medulla floods his bloodstream with a hearty rush of adrenaline.  (‘ _Adrenal medulla’, Newton, this is not the time-,)_ “I would be honoured.  Sincerely honoured, Ms. Mori.”  It is an understatement, to be sure.

“That is good to hear.”  Mako smiles, nodding to herself.  “It’s just a formality for now, but if you could please sign at the bottom of that document as acknowledgement of your acceptance.”  She pauses, pen in hand.  “Though there is.. one more thing.”

“Do go on.”

“Funding is still extremely scarce.  As much as I wish I could, I do not have the power to click my fingers and re-instate our science divisions in full.  Until we have secured our new contributors, I am going to have to ask that you take over at least a small portion of Dr. Geiszler’s abandoned projects.  We are still very much in need of kaiju analytics, you understand.  And, well.  You drifted with him.  And.. with them.”

The implication here is clear.

The threeway drift between Newton, Hermann and baby Otachi is considered an extremely classified event.  The PPDC made sure that it never got out to journalists, and Newton was _frequently_ reminded never to slip up and mention it on TV.  Bad enough that one of their scientists drifted with a kaiju – they didn’t need to know that, actually, there are _two_ extremely intelligent humans who both might house a tiny portion of an alien hivemind in their brains.

Mako, of course, is one of the few with high enough classification to be privy to this information.

“I understand,” is all Herman says in response, nodding shortly.  This information is not quite as well received – at least not to _his_ side of his conscious.  He can almost _feel_ the ghost of Newton’s consciousness whooping and punching the air as he takes the pen to sign his name under Mako’s perfectly penned kanji and Marshall Hansen’s less careful scrawl of a signature.

“Very well,” Mako says, smiling as she stands up in a clear ‘end of meeting’ signal.  “If that’s all -,”

“Ms Mori. Mako,” Hermann cuts in, despite himself.  “I hope… I hope that you are faring well.”  It is not nearly enough.

“I am well, yes,” she responds, bowing in thanks.  “I appreciate your concern, Hermann.  I hope we can talk again soon.”

**viii. Really?!**

_Mako wants you to **what?!**_

Hermann can, unfortunately, picture the scene perfectly: Newton laughing to himself as he futilely tries to type, simultaneously conjuring up visuals of Hermann unemphatically dealing with kaiju entrails up-close and personal.  Hermann does not pout, outwardly, but mentally there is a pout-adjacent emotion instilled in him.  It’s not as if he had expected any other reaction from Newton, but still.

_And you **agreed?!**_

_This is incredible.  I’ve got to figure out how to hack into the lab security cameras so I can fully immerse myself in this strange new world that we’re living in.  The drift was the best possible thing we could have done.  This is amazing.  I believe in you, dude, you’ve got me in your brain._

_RE: Jaeger re-implementation, don’t get mad at me but I kinda already knew?  Remember the NDAs? Yeah.  That was definitely a facet of them.  I’m still pretty stoked, but let’s just say that Lady Shao’s got some ideas of her own that are **pretty** good.    _

_… If it’s any consolation, ‘cuz I can see the face you’re making, I can see it in my mind’s eye, I have been telling my inner ghost-drift-Hermann everything, so at least a part of you knows?  I wish I could tell you, bud, I really do, instead of just repeating myself ad nauseum, and me continuing to talk about it probably isn’t helping so I’m just gonna.  Stop._

_To be honest, most of what I’ve been doing here so far is learning the ropes, helping out with a few lower-level projects while everything gets put in place to allow the **real** show to begin.  I’m not saying I’m basically a glorified PA at the moment, but it kinda feels like it.  That’ll change soon, though, I hope.  That’s what they keep telling me, but you know what it’s like.  This stuff can take weeks.  Months.  I think we’re finally going to start on blueprints soon, at least. _

_God, I can’t believe you’re going to be doing fucking xenobiology.  Oh, my heart, how it flutters._

_Newt_

 

**ix.**

 

SIX MONTHS LATER

 

“Otachi Jr. sample B-26: dissection of the right lung to be commenced.  The aim here is to attempt to determine how far along in the gestation period this specimen was before it was forcibly removed from the womb.  Cause of death was, of course, strangulation, but could further developed bronchi, for example, have prevented such a swift end?”  Hermann presses down the ‘pause’ button on his Dictaphone with more than a little difficulty, given the massive rubber gloves enveloping his hands.  He may have acquiesced to performing these necropsies, but he has _not_ assimilated Newt’s preferences to such a degree that he will perform them wearing the bare minimum of extremity protection, as his erstwhile colleague had done on a daily basis.

The Dictaphone, though – that’s Newton unashamedly messing with him from inside his brain.  He’s never had the compulsion to record his thoughts before.

 _And isn’t it just the most useful thing?_ Hermann thinks, in a suspiciously Newtonian tone.  _Those gloves, though.  Very chic.  Very you._ Out of the corner of his eye, he swears the sees the edge of a leather jacket, the flick of an over-gelled haircut, the flash of a smirk, but when he turns to look, he’s alone.  As always.  He frowns at himself, at his over-eager imagination.  _Aw.  Sorry,_ the Newt in his head apologises, which is infuriatingly unnecessary, and only magnifies the sheer ridiculousness of this entire scenario. 

Maybe a little more forcefully than he had originally planned, Hermann snatches up his knife in hand, slams down his visor. 

The Newton Geiszler who has apparently taken up permanent residence in his head has been far more active than the Newton Geiszler in his email inbox recently, is the thing.  It’s more than a little worrying.  Hermann had assumed, given the reports he has read from the Rangers on their own experiences, that the ghost drifting he had been experiencing the first few months after he and Newton connected a neural bridge would gradually begin to fade, and he would feel more in control of all his faculties once more.  He had hoped that he would have less of an inclination to listen to Nirvana, and more of an inclination to listen to Chopin, but alas.  Newton’s hold on his mind is, it seems, unshakeable. 

What he finds most difficult to deal with is whether or not he is okay with this, and that is a point of view that fluctuates by the minute.  By the second, sometimes.  Or so it feels.  Thinking on it too hard would mean bringing up subjects that he does not feel wholly comfortable talking about, even within the confines of his own mind.  Maybe that’s understandable, given how the ghost of a memory of said object of discussion _lives_ in his mind _._ There is the matter of his ever-growing loneliness, for one, which sounds so _pathetic,_ and yet, the number of times he has started to shout over to the other side of the lab to someone who just isn’t there is racking up by the day. 

It is like he is experiencing a phantom limb, except in this case, the phantom will talk to him, on occasion.  Unlike in the world _outside_ of his head.

_Dear Newton,_

_My journey in kaiju sample analysis started today in the form of an intestinal sample, of all things, being delivered direct to the laboratory.  I thought you might enjoy that visual.  Here is a further setting of the scene: I am staring at it, currently cursing Mako Mori quite vehemently in the confines of my mind.  I understand the importance of this work, of course, but I was not made for this.  I was made for numerical hypotheses and theorems, equations and planes. That I can look upon these entrails and instantly bring to mind the technical terms for their various parts, the numerous methods of dissection, even a twinge of fondness at seeing them lying there, watching, waiting, is still a cause of dissonance for me.  That, combined with the smell that the aforementioned entrails are diffusing across the lab, has nearly made me throw up a couple of times.  I hope you’re happy._

_Yours,  
Hermann_

_\--_

_Dear Newton,_

_Has your work proper begun yet?  I know about the Non Disclosure’s, you really don’t have to remind me every time; I am simply asking for surface levels answers, you understand.  Things are still fairly quiet, over here.  Deals being scripted, discussed and signed is a process that can take an extraordinarily long time, of course.  I am fully prepared for an eventuality in which we may have to wait a number of years for the PPDC’s plans to come to fruition.  Ms. Mori and Marshal Hansen are barely to be seen at all, recently._

_I had lunch with Tendo the other day.  Somehow we rarely cross paths either, anymore.  He has been extremely busy with what he fondly calls the ‘scrapping project’, whereby he and a team of PPDC lackeys are collecting key components from fallen Jaegers across the globe.  They have even pulled a few from the ocean, I believe._

_My music playlist is starting to look unrecognisable.  I don’t even know who ‘Portugal, The Man’ **are,** and yet I was compelled to look them up regardless._

_Yours,  
Hermann_

_\--_

_Dear Newton,_

_I am starting to understand why you revel in this sort of practice, I think.  Slicing into an alien appendage can be quite cathartic indeed._

_\--_

_Dear Newton,_

_Are you receiving my emails? Is everything alright?_

_\--_

_Hermann,_

_Yeah, sorry dude, lots going on.  Will catch you up later._

_Dr. Geiszler_

 

He has heard nothing since.

He spends far too long wondering why it is, exactly, that Newton would have suddenly gone cold.  He has never done this before, save for post their first in-person meeting.  His mind betrays him, conjuring up scenarios that are each worse than the last.

Newton is too immersed in his work to converse.  This is, at least, acceptable.

Newton has taken to talking to the Hermann in his head more than the Hermann in real life.

Newton has replaced him with a subpar Hermann variant.

Newton has simply forgotten that he exists.

Newton has succumbed to the kaiju in his head.

Newton is lying in a medical bed, bound and tied by Shao’s lackeys as they attempt to see inside his mind.

Hermann shudders.

 _Hey, man, chances are I’m just enjoying some **rad** parties over at Shao Industries.  _ Hermann jolts, unprepared as he is for another mental assault from his neural ghost.  He glares at the wall in lieu of being unable to glare at Newton himself.  _Making famous friends, drinking a shitload of alcohol, just, y’know, enjoying life._

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Hermann bites out, and then instantly regrets it.  Do _not_ engage the ghost in your head.  Do not.

_Compared to all those other scenarios you were running through a minute ago?  Yeah, I think so.  You’re imagining me bound and tied?  Really?  Not sure whether to be flattered or concerned._

“That’s not – you – _uncouth, foul-minded -,”_ Hermann bites out, and then pauses.  Takes a deep breath.  Realises that in that moment, he feels more alive than he has at any point during the past _month._

_Whoo, I felt that sweet, sweet rush of adrenaline too._

.. He needs to sleep.

 

**x. Reality Blurred**

The problem with _that_ is, when he sleeps, the nightmares begin. 

It’s something he tries not to dwell on too often, but that’s difficult when he’s experiencing the  nightmares of two (three?) separate consciousnesses, sometimes simultaneously.  In a dreaming state, it becomes impossible to know who he is at any given moment.  He will dream in azure of mindless destruction; of a world not his own; of his world torn and battered and _dead_ , of finding Newton lying on the cold laboratory floor, Pons interface strapped to his head, lifeless eyes staring back at him; of becoming so lost in the drift that he never awakens, and is forced to spend eternity in the memories of an alien hivemind; of dust falling from the roof of an underground shelter in Hong Kong; he dreams in simultaneity of the terror of the breach reopening, and the sheer joy as it slices through water, deep underground –

He dreams of a lot of things.  He has woken up, flinging himself from the covers, shaking and sweating, more times than he could possibly count.  His sleep patterns have been thoroughly shaken and reworked as a result. 

He glances at the clock.  3am.  This is not, unfortunately, unusual.

 _If it helps, I’m pretty sure I’m probably experiencing a similar phenomenon, a few hundred miles away_ , Newton says, altogether too quiet and too introspective for Hermann’s liking.  _With what we went through, it’s not like it’s a surprise, or anything.  It’s just our natural response to a life-threatening event, evolutionary-like.  Our brains are trying to help us.  Good job, brains, you tried._

Hermann falls back horizontal, stares up into the inky blackness, groans quietly. 

_Yeah, I hear you.  Who told me to hang around for so long, huh?_

“Not me,” Hermann mumbles blearily, squeezing his eyes shut in something akin to frustration. 

Something akin to relief.

_Are you gonna try the whole slowing your brain waves, heading for REM thing again, do you think?_

“I’m sure I don’t _want_ to.”

_Well, sure, I experience these things with you, dude, I’m on board with a negative response here.  But.  Sleep.  Good for the soul._

“Mm,” Hermann mumbles, can almost feel his brain slowly shutting down once more despite his protests.  If he somehow does not jolt awake again an hour later, then all the better.

 

**xii. Residence**

As much as Hermann would be loathe to admit it, there are many factors to take into account when analysing why, exactly, Newton has taken up what seems like permanent residence in his neural pathways.  These are not issues that he would normally confront head-on, by any means; he exists in the quantitative first and foremost, after all.  But they exist, and that cannot be denied for much longer. 

“You _should_ confront it,” Mako tells him one day, when he finally takes it upon himself to ask her how she has dealt with the aftermath of her own drift experiences.  “For me, I think, it is easier.  Raleigh is here.  He is present.  I do not need the memory of him, as I am making new memories each day.  For you, it is different.”

“You make it sound as if – ,”

“I’m not trying to infer anything.  Yours and Newt’s relationship was, and continues to be, a complex one, I think.  I would not try and read into that which I do not fully understand.  But, no matter how you define it, it was..” Mako pauses, raises a hand to her chin, deep in thought.  Apropos of nothing, Hermann can feel his stomach tighten.  “Necessary,” is what she lands on.  “For the both of you.  I imagine his departure was a shock.”

“And now his communications have entirely ceased.  I cannot help but worry.”

Mako nods, understanding in her eyes.  “I have not heard directly from him myself, but reports from Shao Industries suggest that he is well.”  She looks directly at him, as if she is trying to stare into his soul – as if, perhaps, she is attempting to find the facsimile of Newt himself.  “You should try contacting him, more directly, if you are truly worried.  But more to the point.. talk to the _him_ in your mind.  Newt has always craved attention.  I feel the Newt in your head would be no different.”

Hermann stares out across the main floor from his position atop the LOCCENT balcony, at that.  Once again, Mako proves to be the most astute person in the building.

“ _Kangaete okimasu,”_ he says, eventually, surprising himself as the words flow from him as naturally as water from a spring.  “ _Yoroshiku onegaishimasu, Mori-san.”_

“ _Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”_ Mako smiles fondly.  “Did you learn that from him?”

“I suppose I must have.”

And so, he takes it upon himself to treat this problem like any other scientific hypothesis: with testable theories.  (Or, at least, _hypothetically_ testable theories.)

_Newton’s Drift Ghost Has Taken Up Residence in My Head – Why Is This?_

He starts somewhere he feels more comfortable: with impassive observations.  The most salient, he thinks, is that it could very well have something to do with Newton’s likely subpar drift interface.  The man may be a genius, but he created the thing from _scraps._ The likelihood of it being as efficient as an interface installed with state of the art components and years of construction time is.. low.  To say the least.  Or, perhaps the opposite: could his interface’s lack of fidelity have resulted in a _stronger_ neural connection between its users?  He would need to retrieve the interface and study it in closer detail to be able to posit this as a legitimate theory, but it’s certainly a possibility.

 _Hey.  It **worked** , didn’t it?  That’s the most important thing here, don’t you think?  _Newton says, and Hermann swears he can feel pressure on the back of his chair – can almost feel Newton’s eyes boring into his writing from over his shoulder.

“Whether it worked or not is hardly germane.  Certainly, it performed its base function, but could it have lacked components from the machine it was based on; ones that might have, perhaps, dampened the residual effects of the drift?”  He pauses, hesitates.  “Did you _want_ to have the alien hivemind reside in your brain for an extended period of time?!”

 ** _No,_** _Hermann, come on, give me_ some _credit.  You have my memories.  Check out the process yourself, dude._

“An over-excitable mad scientist stereotype digging through junk like a child creating a science fair experiment?” He sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead in agitation.

Theory #2: Drifting with alien lifeforms affected the stability of the drift.

This one he has less basis for, having only a surface level understanding of how the precursor’s minds actually work.  He may hold a fraction of them somewhere within his subconscious, but it’s hardly enough for a theory such as this.  Still, it is one worth considering. 

Fact: Before Newton Geiszler, nobody had ever drifted with any part of a kaiju, and he would therefore be hard-pressed to predict the effects of doing so on the human mind. 

Fact: Hermann’s first drift with a kaiju was Newton’s second, hence likely to amplify the aforementioned unpredictable effects, if any.

Fact: The kaiju and the precursors can communicate telepathically, even through a quantum breach.

Theory: The kaiju & precursor’s enhanced telepathic waves somehow manipulated their human drift partners’ brain capacities. 

This one is much more of a stretch.

_You’re telling me.  It’s not like I’m communicating with you telepathically, here.  At least.  I don’t think so.  Oh man.  Is there any way of proving **that?**_

“I am quite sure that is not what’s happening,” Hermann says flatly.

_You don’t believe that at all.  I can tell.  I am in.  Your.  Brain._

“Mm.”

Theory #3: He and Newton may be abnormally drift compatible.

This is where he starts to stray into the subjective, but it is nonetheless worth taking into account.  He has no cold, hard data that could tell him outright just how compatible the two of them actually are, but he is sure the results would be fairly unsurprising.  In all his life, Hermann has never met anyone with whom he is as intellectually on par with as Newton Geiszler; from the very first letter he received post Trespasser’s attack, it had been clear that this was a man with a remarkable brain.  Someone with whom he would not have to hold back on scientific asides and what others would call his ‘verbose’ speech patterns.   

_Aw, thanks._

They may have never physically sparred on the floor of the Shatterdome’s makeshift dojo in what Hermann considers a laughable attempt to determine compatibility via ability to throw a stick around, but they have sparred _verbally_ for years, day in, day out.  They may have appeared to be simply bickering and arguing to an outside observer, but internally, they were wrapped in a discourse that flowed and danced seamlessly from topic to topic; mental stimulation that neither of them could ever get from anyone else.  To argue as Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler argued was to intimately understand the inner workings of your sparring partner’s mind.

_Damn, Hermann, I’m a figment of your imagination and I’m still blushing here._

Hermann pauses, pen hovering above the page.  He had known all of this, of course, known it for years, but to see it written out, in his own hand no less – it’s. 

Revealing.

_You’re telling me._

“Oh, shush,” Hermann reprimands, brought out of his reverie.

Theory #4: He misses Newton’s company.

This is undoubtedly the most infantile, pathetic theory of all his potential options, and yet he has committed himself to being thorough.

_Is ‘pathetic’ really the word?  I would say ‘honest’, maybe._

The lab is quiet without Newton’s presence.  The Shatterdome is equally as affected.  Hermann’s _life_ , as a whole, has taken on an eerie silence without the sounds of Newt’s incessant humming, or talking into his voice recorder, or strumming on his guitar as he attempts to think, or the slosh of kaiju viscera passing over Hermann’s _clearly defined_ yellow line down the middle of the lab, or his non-regulation boots stamping across the concrete –

 _Yeah.  Sounds like a classic case of ‘missing another individual’, if you ask me,_ Newt says, and this time, for reasons he would never be able to quantify, Hermann looks up toward where his auditory cortex is telling him the voice is coming from.  And balks.

For a moment, Newt is there, grinning down at him from behind the reflection of the light on his glasses, his hands resting gently on Hermann’s shoulders, a hint of green and yellow and red peeking out from underneath black leather.

Just a moment.

He lets his head fall down onto his desk, covering his inane, senseless ramblings.  “I am truly going crazy,” he mutters to the empty room.

There is no response.

After a moment’s silence, he balls one hand into a tight fist, pushes himself back up, and swipes his mobile from the desk.  He is having a wave of resolve that he refuses to waste.

To: Newton Geiszler  
_Do you ever find yourself experiencing drift-induced auditory and/or visual hallucinations?_

He sends it with an unnecessarily forceful tap to the screen.

Now.  He has _actual_ work to do.

Much as it may seem, at times, that Hermann spends the entirety of his waking hours (and even, in some cases, his _non-_ waking hours), dwelling on his former colleague, this is decidedly _not_ always the case.  Steps are finally being made to re-implement the Jaeger program, and so alongside his xenobiological analysis, Mako has given him a new project: start on the blueprints for improved coding for the next generation of Jaegers.

Mark 6.  He had thought it would never come to pass.

He has to admit, he is relieved to finally have a valid excuse to step away from possibly toxic kaiju entrails and instead immerse himself in the safety of numbers and figures once more.  Cut him open and he may bleed equations, Newt had once joked, and for all the hyperbole, his key point was correct.  Hermann has known little else his entire life.  Mathematics, to him, is the most beautiful, universal language of them all, and one that he will always be able to take refuge in.  Numbers do not lie, and numbers will not leave.  They are infinite, and comforting in their infinity.

Despite himself, Hermann pauses a moment to wait for Newt’s inevitable sardonic response.  It never comes.

“Well, then,” he says to the empty room, and draws up a fresh sheet of paper, trying hard to pretend that he isn’t disappointed even as his words echo up into the ceiling.

 

**xiii.  Two Days Later**

_From: Newton Geiszler  
_ Uh, no.  What are you talking about, even?

 

**xiv. Reminders**

A month passes by, and with it an ever growing worry on Hermann’s part that he has lost Newton’s ghostly influence on his subconscious forever.  He should be glad, he thinks, that his neural ghost has decided to up and leave, to give him some peace, but he has found that the silence following his departure has only emphasised the growing ennui he is experiencing; the ‘phantom limb’ phenomenon that he so desperately wishes he could deny.   And yet, the fact of it is that he has lived with some form of Newton Geiszler at his back for so many years now that the loss of both his tangible form and now his _in_ tangible form feels as if a void has been left somewhere he cannot follow.  If he were a religious man in any shape or form, he might attribute this loss to a segment of his soul, but given that he lives entirely in the secular world, this seems unnecessarily melodramatic.

He has _some_ semblance of his former, quantitative personality left, after all.   

The few times he has tried to communicate with Newton Geiszler of the private sector via text or e-mail in recent weeks he has received only a few lines of brusque, distantly worded replies that suggest he has far better things to be doing than replying to Hermann’s poor attempts at socialisation.  As much as he would like to leave him angry voicemails or capitalised paragraph upon paragraph in e-mail format, he never does, for fear of being the catalyst that truly cuts the man from his life altogether.  That, he would not be able to take.  They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and though it is begrudgingly, Hermann is beginning to admit this may well be the case for him.

At least having a neural ghost to talk to was better than nothing at all. 

He distracts himself successfully enough with the new projects he has been bestowed with for the Mark 6 program a decent amount of the time.  He has a hunger for work that only the PPDC has ever truly been able to sate; another reason that he has only briefly considered moving on from it in the past months.  The Jaegers are just too compelling, too breathtakingly complex and intricate in their design for him to ever truly be able to leave.  He knows that he will likely never be able to take control of a Jaeger himself, but as long as he can work on them, he will be satisfied enough.

(He has _certainly_ not spent quieter hours considering what his and Newton’s Jaeger might look like; what over-the-top weaponry they would design for it from the depths of their ‘mad scientist’ minds, what name they might assign to it.  They are drift compatible, after all, that much is undeniable.)

Mako has disclosed that the first Jaeger they will be putting together for this re-instatement is to be named ‘Gipsy Avenger’, modelled closely after its world-saving predecessor.  He can see the longing in her eyes as she shows him the preliminary blueprints, her barely contained excitement as she explains the features that have been discussed.  Two swords, this time.  And why not?  A Jaeger is nothing if not outrageously ostentatious even at its base form.  His task is to make it faster, slicker, more intelligent, more _everything_ – to help prove that re-instating the Jaeger program is the right choice.  It is no small task, to be sure, but he revels in the opportunity.  He works away from the lab more often than not; the quiet has finally gotten the better of him, and so instead he uses his quarters, or sits up in LOCCENT to watch from on high as construction commences.   

When he is not working, though.  When it is just him, alone.  That is when he needs to fill the gaps in his mind. 

A new hobby has slowly begun to slot into his nightly routine, and he is not entirely sure whether it could be considered a healthy one.  As he lies in bed, heading towards sleep, he chooses a memory from his own personal collection, then finds Newt’s matching perspective to lay on top and watch, as one might a TV show.  The first time he does this, he is barely even conscious of it as it happens.

He remembers his own elation at reading an email from one ‘Dr. Geiszler’ that he received, unprompted, in the early hours of the morning following Trespasser’s attack on San Francisco; remembers the relief at realising that there was someone out there who appreciated and _reciprocated_ his views on the quantum foam and its role in bringing about this alien presence into their world.  He remembers the moment he had realised that maybe, just maybe, he had found in Dr. Geiszler somebody with whom he could truly connect with on a scientific level.

Now, he _also_ remembers reading a paper late post-Trespasser from some guy named ‘Dr. Gottlieb’ who was, apparently, just _extremely_ on top of his Breach theories right from day one; remembers the elation at seeing the ideas he had only barely formed in his head due to lack of proper insight written fully formed on the page in such a concise, _knowledgeable_ manner that he had absolutely no choice but to e-mail this guy _right away_ in a spate of networking that he has never found himself quite so compelled to do before.

Experiencing emotions that do not belong to him will never stop being surreal.

He remembers their first in-person meeting in double-perspective, standing in the busy corridor of a foreign conference, staring at each other in disbelief, confusion, and maybe just a little bit of fascination, though from whose side which emotion comes from he cannot discern. 

“You - ” Hermann had managed to spit out, staring Dr. Geiszler up and down to take in the visage before him.  A leather jacket?  Fingerless gloves?  Non-standard boots?!  And hey, who the hell did this guy think he is, with the stupid haircut and the literal tweed jacket and the stiff upper lip – jeez, dude, you could have walked straight out of a ‘stereotypical British math teacher’ factory, are you kidding me with this right now? 

And yet –

Behind the haircut there’s a marvel of a mind inside that man’s head – he may _look_ like an unprofessional plebeian rather than a neuroscientist with 6 PHDs, but it doesn’t change facts.  Hermann remembers working tirelessly on his first PHD at just fourteen; his peers had laughed when he had walked into the University building, but he’ll show them, he’s the youngest person ever to do a scientific PHD for a goddamn _reason,_ and it’ll blow them out of the water. 

Then he’ll do it five more times.

Indecisive _idiot._

He remembers, in dual perspective, arriving at the Hong Kong Shatterdome and seeing Dr. Geiszler (seeing Dr. Gottlieb) setting up equipment in his (because it was, at the start, when funding was not an issue) laboratory, glancing over and seeing him, frowning, a spark of joy igniting inside him, not that he would ever show that _outwardly_ , they’re supposed to hate each other, when really there is a confused mix of respect, dislike, annoyance, envy, arrogance, and somewhere, deep down, unable to be hidden after years of passionate email exchanges and non-literal linking of minds –

Hermann stares up at the ceiling, unblinking.

Even then, really –

_Even then –_

He flicks through memory upon memory, watches as they are forced to work closer and closer together, as they lose their K-Science co-workers and their interns, as funding spills away as sand into the bottom of an hourglass, until finally they have no choice but to share the same laboratory, forcing them into a workspace where they must endure the other’s annoying habits: Newton’s rock music, his proclivity toward somehow losing track of his kaiju entrails to the point where they end up on Hermann’s _desk;_ Hermann’s tendency to mutter his equations under his breath, the grating sound of chalk being rubbed from his ridiculously large blackboards, the fact that he uses fricking _blackboards,_ are you kidding me with that?  Arguments become a daily occurrence, as does some anonymous member of the PPDC peeking their head in to comment on just how ‘married’ the two of them seem today, or how they need to let off steam somehow, shut up Chuck, get back into your Jaeger why don’t you –

He remembers the first time he walked into the nearest tattoo parlour he could find, hastily scribbled _Trespasser_ drawing in hand, full of horror and fascination and _reverence_ and _needing_ to get this shit down on his dermis as soon as humanly possible, so he can remember, so he can revel, so he can put a pin in this day as one where his life turned completely upside down.

There were the quieter nights; the nights where he and Newton assert a truce to sit in front of a TV and binge-watch _Breaking Bad_ or _Cosmos,_ nights when they needed to simply _be,_ to forget, as much as they possibly can, that monsters were breaking free of a quantum breach and laying waste to their world.  They would occasionally head out into the balmy Hong Kong night and find a still-crowded noodle bar, passing their latest theories back and forth as to what the kaiju’s goals were, how to map the breach, how screwed the world really, truly might be if they didn’t get their act together and figure out how to _stop it._

It is a torment that Hermann Gottlieb is inflicting on himself, revelling in memories and emotions that do not belong entirely to him.  And yet.  He cannot stop.  It is addictive.

It may be all he has left.

 

**xv. Realisation**

Drowning in memories, lavishing in emotions that _do not_ belong to him, examining their lives in a dual perspective; it allows Hermann to admit to himself that which he would normally keep hidden in the folds of his mind, carefully curated and tucked away under mental lock and key from himself and from the world.  He is sure that in vulnerable moments over the years he has allowed specks of it to shine through, like dust reflecting light; only visible under certain circumstances but omnipresent all the same.

He is horrendously, viciously in love with Newton Geiszler.  He has been for years.

Through searching their memories, having the chance to feel what Newton has been feeling in tandem, he is sure, _positive_ that he is not alone in this.  They have shared so much over the years in waterfalls of words, the sharing of scientific papers, quiet moments staring out at the stars in Hong Kong and wondering if this might be the last time they could.  He cannot say he was never sure whether he was alone in his feelings, because he has always known, really.  It has just never been the right time, or the right place, and now he may never have the chance.

The knowledge torments him.

Why, knowing that Newton feels as he does, has he disappeared?  What can he do now but work, and hope, and pour through the memories he holds in his head until they run out?  He wishes he knew.  He melancholically wishes for the voice inside his head.

Or.

In amongst interacting with a neural facsimile of Newt through the medium of their shared memories, in weak moments he sometimes deigns to create _new_ scenarios, where the two live together in not-exactly-harmony, sharing lives and sharing beds and sharing in small touches: hands linked as they sit curled up under a blanket watching a nameless documentary; an arm curled around torso under the warm blankets, under the night sky; fleeting kisses to convey ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’.

It is a sweet, sweet torment that he lavishes upon himself.

**xvi.**

TWO YEARS LATER

 

A package is sitting on Hermann’s desk when he arrives back to his office -  a small, rectangular box taped with hasty inconsideration.  Hermann knows exactly what is in it: the final piece to round out this new space that is entirely _his_ in theory, but which he wants to imbue with a part of what is _Newton’s_ to make it feel truly whole _._ He pulls the scaled kaiju figure from the box – a tiny Otachi, which had seemed the most apt out of all his purchase options, given their shared history, and places it on a shelf. 

The move from Hong Kong to the newly constructed Moyulan Shatterdome in China has taken some time, and he still does not feel as if he is entirely home, but he is… assimilating.  Having his own office has been a source of joy and also of cognitive dissonance, a little bit, but still, he can’t deny that it’s incredibly convenient.  His quarters are also a cut above the dreary, impersonal rooms that had been provided in Hong Kong.  Moyulan really feels like a step into the modern day, and although he is sad to leave behind his home of the past twelve years, the change in scenery is refreshing.

The primary reason for the move is to accommodate the space and technological advances for the new Jaegers, which are coming along nicely.  Gipsy Avenger is essentially complete, and has even been for some test runs (with Mako and Raleigh at the helm, of course), paving the way for more defence Jaegers like Titan Redeemer and it’s laughably over-the-top ‘seismic morningstar’, or newly established Police Force Jaegers, the first of which is christened ‘November Ajax.’  Hermann watches the maiden voyages of these Jaegers with a warm pride instilled in him, knowing that he has contributed the technological framework to allow these goliaths to function.  He particularly enjoyed working on the new hologram technology they implemented into the drift interfaces.

There is, of course, the matter of what is _missing_ that would have made the move more palatable, but there is hardly anything Hermann can do about that.  Newton has truly disappeared into his new life at Shao Industries, so it seems, and even if the man has forgotten he exists, he still cannot forget, and so  will honour the space Newton might have occupied with trinkets and reminders, here and there.

Gods, he makes it sound as if the man is _dead._

_I’m fine, Herm, I promise.  And, hey, look at that lil’ Otachi!  I can almost look at her without wanting to vomit a little bit, now._

Hermann _freezes_ , can feel his heartbeat tick up rapidly.He takes stock of the moment.  He can hardly ask himself if he is simply hearing things because that is what he is _hoping_ for, and what does that say about the state of his life, that he would desperately hope to be hearing voices?

_Uh, y’alright?_

He squeezes his eyes shut, and slowly sinks into the plush seat at his desk.  When he opens them, his gaze lands on a photo of himself and Newt, taken right after the breach had been annihilated, because, of _course._

“You - ,” he starts, feeling a surge of anger so strong that he cannot get another word out until it subsides, which takes more than a few seconds.  “Why -,”

_You alright there, dude?  I can actually feel your cortisol levels rising –_

“Where.  Did you _go,”_ Hermann bites out, barely even able to open his mouth and get the words out.  In a horrendously embarrassing turn of events, he can feel his eyes begin to _well up,_ and that just won’t do, not at all.

 _Aw, I don’t think I ever_ went _anywhere?  I think I’ve always been here, just sorta.  Waiting.  Not that I wanna admit it but you’re a little bit in control of this version of what is ostensibly ‘me’.  Can I really be ‘me’ if I’m in someone else’s head?  Oops, tears, okay, not the time for philosophical discussions, sorry man –_

“You – you can’t _understand -,”_ Hermann finds, incredibly, that he is _smiling,_ despite himself.  There are tears rolling down his cheeks, Newt is talking to him in his head for the first time in _over two years_ , and he is smiling, palming a hand to his face at the sheer _audacity_ of his own inner workings.

 _Man, the mixed signals here are_ crazy _confusing._

“I have been _living_ in _memories_ for the past – over a year, searching and scanning and.” He pauses, dropping his hands into his lap, staring up at the ceiling.  “It is so good to hear your voice,” he breathes out in what may be the understatement of the century.

_Wow, you’re really missing Actual Newt, aren’t you?  Sorry I can’t be more, like, concrete._

“’Actual Newt’ has hidden himself away in the private sector, and refuses to communicate,” Hermann says, frowning. 

 _Well, I mean, you’ve kept yourself pretty occupied, right?  You pretty much_ are _J-Tech and K-Science right now, huh?  Talk about a promotion.  Mako made the right choice.  She’s a smart cookie.  You talk to her much?_

“She is.. extremely busy.  As am I, yes.  Yet - ,” he says, then pauses.

 _.. Hermann, you can tell me things.  I can read your thoughts.  I_ am _your thoughts.  I know what you wanna say, dude.  ‘There’s a hole in my life and it’s shaped like Newton Geiszler’, c’mon, you can do it.”_

Hermann splutters, despite himself.  “You  - imbecile, how – I do _not_ sound like that.”

 _But it’s true, right?  You miss me.  You miss me_ so _much._

“Do you have an endgame here that does not involve attempting to sabotage my thought processes?” 

_Nah, I’m just your personal, built-in echo chamber.  I say what I see, and what I see is pretty obvious.  It’s like a neon sign branded across your limbic system._

“I am sure I don’t have to portray in words what you can so clearly read in my _head_ ,” Hermann bites out, starting to wonder if it’s really such a good thing that his drift ghost has decided to make a resurgence. 

_Okay, okay, I get it, it’s fine.  Just, please, think about how hard you repress stuff, dude.  It’s actually painful to watch.  Anyway.  Tell me what’s going on in your life._

It’s a distraction technique, but given how grateful Hermann is to get away from Newt’s current chosen topic of discussion, he takes it. 

“Well, I suppose I could tell you about the new Jaegers – work has just started on Guardian Bravo, the latest in our Mark 6 range.”

_The one that’s gonna look unashamedly like a Transformer, right?_

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says, but unfortunately, due to the drift, he does.  “However, what would be more of interest to _you,_ I think, is my planned research on kaiju blood and its potential real life applications.”

 _Dude, **yes** , tell me more about your xenobiological hypotheses, I am **extremely** into this_.

“I thought that might be the case,” Hermann says, smiling softly despite himself.  “There is a possibility that kaiju blood may be reactive to rare earth elements in ways that may be, let’s say, explosive.”

_… Are you saying what you think I’m saying?_

“I think you catch my drift.  No pun intended.”

_Holy shit, dude, I wish I was corporeal right now.  I don’t know what I might be compelled to do to you.  Talk dirty to me some more, I beg you._

“Honestly, Newt, contain yourself.”

He thinks he hears a noise akin to _choking_ in his head, at that.

 ** _Newt?!_** _Did you just – are you really talking about **kaiju blood explosions**_ _whilst calling me **Newt?!** I – are you okay?  Do you have a fever or something?  Nah, I know you don’t, I’d be able to feel it –_

“Newt.”

_Oh, god.  If I had a heart it would have just stopped, a little bit, temporarily.  You know, you should – you should call up **real** me and subject him to this, think of the possibilities._

“I can’t imagine I would have any more success than I’ve had in the past few years,” Hermann mutters, his eyes unconsciously drifting to the photo on his desk again. 

_Mm.  I wish I could tell you what’s up with that._

“It’s fine.”

There is a knock at his office door, and he shoots up from his chair in surprise.  Glancing over, he sees Tendo grinning at him from the other side of the glass.  Right, yes.  He has a Jaeger to work on.

_Go get ‘em, Herm._

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I poured my all into this one. I hope you like it. My plan is to maybe do a second part that actually delves into Uprising, but we'll see. I wanna! But man, this took up ALL my mental capacities. I'm proud of what's come out of it.
> 
> I just want to take a sec to thank the K Science Bros Newmann discord for all their help with scientific jargon, and words in general, and for the people that beta-d - this definitely wouldn't have happened without you. We are a collaborative force!!! <3 <3 I also definitely took cues from Designations, because it's the most amazing fic, and I'll never be able to touch it, creatively, but I certainly took inspiration from it. This fandom is so awesome.
> 
> Oh, by the way, 'kangaete okimasu' means 'I'll think about it', and 'yoroshiku onegaishimasu' is a catch-all phrase that doesn't really have a direct translation, but in this context could be taken as 'I appreciate your help', kind of thing.
> 
> Oh, and finally, I'm kai-sci on tumblr :) Also, if you want an invite into the coolest discord ever, hit me up.


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